


Disillusioned

by FUCKINGMANIFESTATION (orphan_account)



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Slurs, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/FUCKINGMANIFESTATION
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm used to shitty days and tons of loving stares at Maxine Caulfield. It happens. Often. This week, however, sure as fuck beats the rest of them. Nature's pulling anomalies, I'm a lap dog, a fight erupts, and Nathan Prescott spills some secrets.</p><p>Or, all of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disillusioned

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. A gift to my best girl, Gab. Happy birthday, babe.
> 
> I'm just as much of a geek as Warren is. Figured this would be cool to happen in the original story, that's all. Written in sorta Warren manner, sorta Max's journal manner. Whatever. I can't write for shit.
> 
> ifappedonce.tumblr.com.

Monday, October 7

"Max, you promised you'd free the evening."

"I know. Things just...came up. Unexpectedly. I swear."

"For the...third Monday in a row. Sure. Getting convinced you're into some occult shit."

"Unlike you, I'm not running a geek club."

I buried my hands in my own pockets. "Sheesh. At this rate, I'll start hanging out with Victoria. Thanks, Max. I hope she's _shimmied_ by Rick and Morty. All her girl galore looks interested in Kyle XY, too."

"Warren."

Her tone wiped my grin out. "Maxine."

How _vivacious_ is the friendzone I'm in! I can't believe my own ears. Max looks super startled about something. As in, I haven't seen her this...weirded out. Just a few days earlier she'd give me shit about re-watching The X-Files when schoolwork's piling on me like steaming hot lava. Again. And I finally blackmailed her into reading Battle Royale, which she, too, has probably dropped halfway; knowing Max, she hasn't even opened the copy. Will do a pop quiz to find out.

I watched her hesitate before talking again. It really felt like we've went through this thing several times already. Oh, wait. We _have._ Except it's any other time I've offered her to hang out on the weekends, on Wednesdays, in the evenings-- see, whatever. It doesn't even matter. No matter when or where, we never catch up in the end. But I'm laying it off this time, since she _does_ look...weird.

Earlier, before Price showed up, I thought it's just Max scraping off the shyness. Gradually, I realized it might be me. And now it turns out she's got all the time for blue-haired punk girls who watch stuff like Twin Peaks and fan about indie music.

I tried to keep my face as least sorrowful as I could.

"I'm sorry," Max said. "I _have_ to talk to her. It's important, Warren. I wish I could tell you what's going on. I mean, I will. Just...not now."

I felt like kicking my own car.

"I _probably_ get it. It's okay. The movies and Warren Graham can totally wait."

Like Warren Graham hasn't been postponed like a fucking Windows update for around a month now. Man, I-- I didn't even need my fucking flash drive, just an excuse to meet up with her. And an excuse not to study.

"I'm so, _so_ glad you're this understanding. I know you're pissed I keep putting this off. I'll free time for you, too, I _promise."_

I forced out a smile and tried cheering myself up. "Hey, Super Max. Chin up. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"I know. I just don't want you to misunderstand." She took a step back, towards the fountain. "Text me by eight. We might have time to go to the bay. Just wait for me by the stadium."

When the conversation starts to head in a direction like this, I don't want it to end, so I gargle up the least important bits of the day.

"Look, I was wondering - Kate asked about the book you wanted to borrow, she said you could--"

Max was already backing off with whole steps. "We just talked. It's set. She'll hand it to me. See you later, Warren. You're seriously the best."

See you later, Warren. You're my _best friend._ You're like a _brother_ to me.

Highlight the friendzone with a neon yellow marker, Max, I really can't see it!

"Later." I waved. "Thanks for the...flash drive."

And there - she, the ruler of my heart, the Padmé to my Anakin, the Scully to my Mulder - turns on the heel of her Converse and stalks back to the entrance of Blackwell Academy where Chloe Price is waiting for her.

I sat on the bunk of my car and tried swinging my legs, to make my longing stare after her less robotic and more natural.

Maxine Caulfield. Oh, _man._

No idea what's the detail in Max I'm so crazy about. The cashew-like skin color? Her super vivid copper chloride eyes? How she talks like she's not even sure what's going to sound the coolest? The slow, monotonous tone, how she unnaturally extends the words she says? Gets me thinking. Though it's probably how contrasting she is to, for example, Victoria Chase. Caulfield's like the artists that get popular by their two hour-long interviews in which they don't produce the smartest fruits of thought. She's buried in melancholy. She's that _one_ type of anxious. Dude, I don't know. She gets me. She's the skin-deep nerd. Not like Brooke.

Brooke is too metal on meteorology. I dig her, but not nearly as much as Max.

I watched Chloe half-circle around her. Body language-wise, they've got the same chemistry as us. While I'm the electron circling around Max, Max is the proton stuck to Chloe. And Chloe's the neutron. All relationships are the most basic atom science. I _do_ wish the system broke down and protons paid interest to electrons, once in a while.

Wow, piss on me if I'm not hopeless. I'm as close to reciprocated feelings as Nathan Prescott to not being an asshole. The irony! Speaking of that jerk, my right eye's still sore and black as hell. I'm glad Max didn't stay to see the rest of the act. It's not just my eye circled with a marker. Nathan aimed elsewhere.

At least she took the least of the damage and drove off with Price. But I swear, had Nathan laid a finger on her (asides from the choking I couldn't do shit about), I wouldn't reconsider lunging out. Not that I did in the first place, but I saw Chloe's TWNPKS truck take the right. Knew she'd buy me seconds. Nathan headbutts with no mercy.

Man, Max didn't say much today. About the eye, or Nathan. Nothing else than sarcastic "White Knight" comments and hasty stares over at Chloe. She's locking me out, I guess. I hope it's not for long.

Chloe's the new hip friend Max hangs out with after school. I used to substitute her, but it's got to be the hometown girl charm that pulls Max in. Heard they used to be friends. At least that's what Max said. I've also been thinking about asking her out to Newberg's drive-in movie night. Feels like we might have a total blast, since she fans about the Planet of the Apes films.

She's already seen my new retro-wheels and thinks they're sick, so. I'm definitely copping Max as my sci-fi nerd dream girlfriend. She's the... "Add To Wishlist" option on every Internet store.

I could talk about Max for hours, if anyone bothered to listen. For one, my hobbies include sending her texts that, if I'm extremely lucky, get answered two hours later. It's usually three to five, why I mentioned "lucky". It _does_ feel great when she picks up my references. Or, when I realize it's Max poking my own flash drive against my stomach instead of hugging me in return. And then Prescott beats me once in a while. But I'd handle anything in stake of Max.

Max, pirating movies isn't a shit job. I do this for you.

Man, I'm all over her, so it doesn't matter what shit she's putting me through.

I got in my car and turned the engine on. Might drive to the record store and get the CDs Stella mentioned. Alyssa said I should look for Hop About. Still got no idea what Max digs. I know it's nothing heavy, but I won't put my finger on the exact genre.

To the everlasting ashes of Tesla, am I _ever_ going to stop thinking about her?

* * *

Turns out the record store didn't hold much of what I wanted, so I tiptoed upstairs, to the second floor. It's a semi-record store, semi-bookstore, semi-thrift store. All kinds of great and rare shit. Max and I frequent it whenever she needs a book club buddy. Or, if we're on a hunt for sci-fi. This place holds _such_ antique stuff - just last week I ran on a "Spring-heeled Jack" penny dreadful. And I found out Max totally fancies Flash Gordon. She got a stack of newspapers for, I don't know, a dollar or more. The real superhero comic books start launching by 1935, but I don't think this place has them.

I spent a while digging through the store. Found Moby Dick. And East Of Eden. Extremely fucked up Mothman comics, which I decided to cop. As for my biggest surprise, I ran up on a super rare worn-out copy of Einstein's "Relativity". I've never had the big time for boy Albert, I'm more keen on Hawking or so. Despite the book's condition, it rounded up to fifteen bucks. I didn't bother buying it. Just a bag full of Mothman, to have something for the boring nights when Max is out with Chloe.

I got fries at the Two Whales Diner and headed back to the dormitory. I've got to meet my girl soon. If she decides to come, that is.

* * *

It's a little before eight. I'm on the bench by the stadium, arms crossed. Super chilly out, despite all my meteorological measures and Brooke's Facebook posts. It should've been at least two times warmer. Trust me, I've got the following month's weather changes scheduled out, and nothing warned about _this._ Mmm. Bummed Warren, I guess.

But it doesn't make sense, though; considering it was something below seventy degrees when I left my dorm. I don't know who's pulling this atmospheric geoengineering Wilhelm Reich stuff on Arcadia Bay this week, but shit creeps me out. At least I get to hope Max comes freezing and I can offer my chemically faked-up teenage stress warmth to her.

Been munching on my last fries and the great view of Blackwell Academy for the past few minutes. I hope Max decides to come, or at least calls in as not coming so I can get back to the lab before curfew.

I noticed one of the Vortex Club's posters plastered on the table. There's that Rachel Amber flyer I've been seeing everywhere for the past six months. Next to it - the drawing of an implied and shittily carried-through tornado. No offense, but I heard the Vortex thing's going to be big, so I signed up. I don't think I'll have anything better to do on the weekend other than the lab. Justin said I shouldn't geek again and come with. Brooke wants the robot convention. Max hasn't talked at all.

Asides from the robot convention, there's a science fair next week. I'm ought to go, with my nerd friends, so I can't ask any _girls_ to come. It's like a different tier. Though Brooke's an option. Not because she was also an option in case Max turned the "Go Ape" idea down, but because she'd get it. Not sure if Max gets the stuff I muse about, but she seems to.

I checked my phone. It's precisely eight. I got stuck up in the parking lot today already. Man, girls _love_ taking their time.

_It's a joyous evening for Dr. Graham out here by the stadium, alone. Lost. Naked. Leeching on kryptonite._

_Oh man I've been spitting bullets, look at the weather! Wear something warm. Orrr not. Either ways - would Ms. Maxine Caulfield care to bless the Scientist with her presence?_

_10/07 8:02pm_

I've been thinking about the photography class at Jefferson's. The shit I found browsing for him was pretty bomb. He works in the monochrome field Max seems to adore so much. I'm not much of a photographer, but I can tell his framing is great and he knows what he's doing. Too bad she's got, like...the _fattest_ crush on Mark. And he's thirty, or way past. He's young for being this successful and working as a professor.

* * *

I dragged my sorry ass to the lab after Max didn't show up (or text me) for the following twenty minutes. Wowser. Like it's the first time.

As if that didn't categorize my mood with absolute garbage, knowing she's probably out with Chloe, nature got off to pulling yet another anomaly.

I swear, life at Blackwell gets more and more fucked as the days pass.

It _snowed._

Quite rationally thinking, it's _possible_ for snow to fall in autumn. What's not possible is snow falling in autumn _nowadays._ Global warming has punched us way too hard for a paradox like this to occur in 2013, and I'm extremely curious what's Brooke got to say about it.

_Drone girl, check the weather. WE'VE LET BLACKWELL DOWN. I'm leaving studying meteorology if this happens one more time._

_Also, snowmen._

_Parodize It by tuning the snow in._

_10/07 09:24pm_

_CLOUD SEEDING_

_IT'S HAPPENING_

_IT'S HAPPENING!_

_10/07 09:25pm_

_MUH CLOUDS_

_MUHHHHHH CLOUDS_

_Seriously, though. Who the fuck is this mad weather whisperer? Watch it. It's something The Exodus-ish._

_Ten plagues will affect Arcadia Bay..._

_The water....turns into BLOOD._

_10/07 09:27pm_

_Loved the babies dying._

_How'd it go with Caulfield?_

_10/07 09:27_

_Great! Asides from not meeting her, we had a blast together._

_10/07 09:28pm_

_Again._

_10/07 09:28pm_

_:T_

_10/07 09:29pm_

I spent the following forty minutes on reading about weather modification. Followed Brooke's Facebook posts and took the lead from there. I'm more of a principles and practice guy when it comes to science, so I'd need to research on actual proof what weather mods look like. As for Brooke, she totally slobbers it. I'm better on digging up the Internet.

Figured I'll take a shower tomorrow morning and dressed down to my underwear. Seconds after I slid in bed with my laptop, my phone signaled for a message from Max.

Wow, I know.

_What do you know about:_

_relativity_

_wormholes_

_time travel_

_10/07 10:10pm_

I sure as fuck know you didn't warn you're not coming? Whatever, I guess? Does she want to, like, time travel a few hours back and meet me, after all?

_So now I'm Dr. Who? Or Doc Brown? For what class? I never got any cool time science homework._

_And I know this shit._

_10/07 10:10pm_

_I'll explain in detail later. If you actually help me._

_10/07 10:14pm_

I can bet a million bucks she won't and I will.

_Like time, my texts are infinite. Plus I have unlimited messaging._

_I'll make you a list of essential books. And websites. And movies._

_I'm intrigued by your new interest in science._

_10/07 10:14pm_

Wormholes...man. Mad Max, you've got _hobbies_ alright.

Her message kept bugging me for a while. I knew I've got a few books under my bed, but I'm clueless if any speaks of relativity or time travel... Jeez. Max is going full re-TARDIS. Even I'm not the smartest in this. Time to study Einstein's work. Ooor not. Has Chloe brought her in the right direction? Wait, is Chloe a _total_ trekkie? And I thought I'm the only weirdo around. Check it, it's seconds before Max gets into quantum physics. Then I'm saved from Einstein's relativity theories.

I let that thought linger for a while.

Einstein's... Einstein's theories.

She's looking for relativity, right? Why does it feel so...coincidentally...

Oh, _fuck!_ Eureka!

I jumped out of bed and rushed over to the blackboard on my door. Once I'd found a chalk, I scribbled "Relativity by Einstein 4 Max, rec. store's II floor" to remember dropping by tomorrow.

Tuesday, October 8

I got shitty night's sleep and found myself wandering around the campus. To cut time, I hung out with Samuel and talked about the snow yesterday. He's got funny ideas and is pretty chill in general. What kind of freaks me out is him talking to _squirrels._ Samuel said the snow is nature paying us back for the shit we've done to it. Kinda agree. Samuel's a native, he'd know.

Met Max rushing somewhere early before classes due to the urge to ask about the drive-in. I ended up being approved and finding out the reason why Prescott jumped her yesterday. Turns out she's busted him with a gun. Great. She could've left the details out, at least. My dorm room is facing his. Blackwell "Equilibrium" Academy.

Nathan Prescott _is_ fucked up. His attitude's in the shitter. Nobody ever goes in his room and he locks it like it's a huge deal. I guess now it is, knowing he stalks around with a gun. Plus...he owns the place. His prissy parents do, I mean. Gives credit.

Seeing how he's always grouped up with Victoria and her Vortex chicks, it totally freaks me out. They can choose whom to mob. Taylor "Sweet-T" Christensen gave shit to Alyssa just a week ago, and now they're mobbing Max's friend, Kate Marsh. And whoever is a friend of Max is also a friend of mine.

Except, _maybe,_ the hot punk. But it's a matter of time before we hang out at Two Whales together.

I'm full-on bricked on checking up on Kate once in a while. I know I've got tons of bullying shit to deal with myself, since I'm not the brightest crayon, either, but I'm not letting Prescott's puppies get their shit on Kate, or, as an extreme, Max. Seriously. At least now I know Nathan's carrying a gun, so I can't jump him where ever I wish-- despite it being the most White Knight shit I could do.

Kate used to be different back in September when she arrived in Blackwell. She's always been shy and out of any Chase-drama, and I even heard her talk more. Now it's the puffy eyes and not going out of the dorm. It's because there's a video of Kate posted somewhere. YouTube, or Facebook. Vimeo? No idea. I've seen it, like everyone else in Blackwell. It went viral. Comforting Kate is a Max thing to do, so I'm rather taking the lead by helping her out in classes and getting cheap books to read. I'm not the best at empathy, but it seems like it's helping. And her rabbit, Alice, she's super cute.

I can't believe it's really Kate in the video. Her family's strictly Christian, and she's surely following their steps. The cross, her room. The level-headed attitude. It just seems so off for her to go to Vortex Club's parties with _Victoria_ and the entire clan. _And_ Nathan Prescott.

I hope Max gives me some insight on this, if she knows anything.

* * *

Fifteen bucks spent. I drove to the record store during lunch and bought the book for my Zelda. Totally blew chemistry today, since lunch is right before science. Whatever. At least I got to meet Max and give her "Relativity". She seemed pretty stoked and thanked me by helping me out in the lab.

* * *

Some bizzarro shit just happened.

Kate tried to jump from the roof of the dormitories.

I was weirded out by Kate's attitude this morning and tried talking to her earlier through the day, but she pushed past me and didn't bother explaining what's up. I mean, I _tried_ to help, at least, but I'm probably not the best at girls. Kate and Max - great examples. I shouldn't have even attempted talking to her. Distressed by Kate's denial, I looked for Max after the lesson and talked to her right before her class at Jefferson's.

We had a chat about Kate for a short while before Jefferson shooed me out. I told Max she's been extremely down today and recommended going extra soft and careful-- if Max's even going to talk to her. She's been outing, too. It's the big deal with _Chloe,_ it's the recent shit going on with Nathan and the non-existent gun control, and she still hasn't told me the big secret from yesterday.

I had my last class when Trevor banged the door open. The only sane thing he said was: "Guys, you've got to see what's happening at the dorms." Logically, our entire class rushed outside.

My heartbeat dropped it's rate for a few beats. It's probably the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen. Kate's thin legs right at the ledge, slightly bent out of horror of what she's about to do to herself. If it wasn't for the rain, we'd all see her tremble. The amounts of adrenaline she was probably producing on the roof... Man, it's insane. I can't believe Arcadia's prep kids led her to this.

I completely lost my shit seeing _Max_ on the roof with her. With Alyssa close, I watched Caulfield call out to Kate and her, in turn, responding. At least she _responded_ and didn't jump. The conversation lasted for a few minutes, but I could've sworn it felt like fucking hours.

What's weird is, I swear I thought Max was having photography at Jefferson's, and his class is way further from the dorms than the lab is. So I've got no idea what fucked speed Super Max has, but she made it to the roof before Kate jumped. Fuck it, even if she _teleported_ over to the dorms, I'm glad she made it.

Alyssa was still crying after Kate hugged Max and they were brought down to ground. Two men from the local ambulance wrapped Kate up in a blanket and escorted her to the truck.

The students of Blackwell all cheered for Max, me included.

* * *

 After Max got interrogated about the situation, we met up at the yard and talked about it. She looked like she's been crying. I did everything to cheer her up and make her realize what a heroine she is for talking Kate out of suicide.

From what I could put together, David Madsen - the security guard - has also picked on Kate. What a total dick! I can't believe a security guard has nothing better to do than creep on girls twice his age. And he's been giving shit to Max, too, lately. Man, and she said the interrogation involved Mark Jefferson _and_ Nathan Prescott. As if the rich kid hasn't been getting his ass in dangerous business enough. Man, waving a _gun_ in the girls' bathroom? Shit, Nathan, you've got a character, I'll give you that.

Max said she thought about blaming David. She showed me a picture she'd taken, too. But I don't think it's David who brought her to the edge, and neither did Max. We talked about Jefferson's role in Kate's acting. He's been inconsiderate about her problems, apparently, and has refused to help her, despite the top-class performance she's always giving.

Jesus.

"Out of everyone in the room, I blamed Prescott." Max pulled her knees to her chest. "He's the blackest sheep of them all. I trust Jefferson and don't think _he'd_ be able to bully Kate to do such vile things. Madsen? A dick. But he's a security guard."

"David creeps me out now. What if he's got a file on every student of Blackwell?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. But you've got to give me some credit, Nathan _is_ responsible. He drugged Kate, he tried to shoot Chloe, and he constantly threatens me. Principal Wells expelled him for the time being."

"Kate should've done a blood test," I gloomily said. "Now it's way too late and nobody's ever finding out. Fuck, I'm _on_ to Nathan now. Wonder how Victoria feels after today."

"Like shit, probably."

I nodded and bumped Max with my shoulder, moving closer to her. "Agreed. But you're not allowed to feel the same, Maxine Caulfield. You kicked ass today. It's a big and brave thing for you to do."

Fuck _yes,_ Doctor! You've made the dystopian queen smile.

"Thanks, Warren."

I put my hand around her shoulders and pulled her close.

* * *

We watched an unprognosed solar eclipse. I called Brooke later at night and found out it's yet another Arcadia Bay anomaly, absolutely unpredicted by the newscast or any other existing service.

Wednesday, October 9

I fell asleep by four in the morning after studying the eclipse. Woke up and had a hearty breakfast of Jelly Babies, digestive biscuits and Mr. Kipling Bramley Apple Pies.

Max called me at night. Could be around midnight. Asked me how to make a _pipe bomb._ Without question, I pulled myself out the bed and found my lab notes.

Shit, like I have any information on _pipe_ bombs. Ms. Grant shrugs off the science pranks I pull and doesn't list them in my file, even though she _knows_ I'm behind that shit. One thing she doesn't do, though, is assistance on crafting explosives. Grant totally refuses giving out information on such things.

Bummer. So the only stuff I have written down is the shit I've researched and come up with myself.

"I can give you a regular bomb." I clumsily skirted through the pages. "But you'll need sodium hydroxide. You need caustic soda."

_"Is there any other way? Consider my resources limited."_

"I'll check the net. Text you later."

It took me a total of five minutes to find the instructions and write them down in my notebook. Instead of taking a picture of my all-over-the-place scribbles, I texted her the information. Everything should be easy to obtain, wherever she is. Soda water, sticky tape, sugar and sodium chlorate. She might have to face some problems with the latter. I'm not sure she knows sodium chlorate can be found in weed killers.

_Now pay attention, 007. You have to find FOUR objects:_

_1\. SUGAR_

_2\. A SODA CAN_

_3\. DUCT TAPE_

_4\. SODIUM CHLORATE_

_10/09 12:06am_

I included a shitty smartphone-limit drawing in the next message, showing the process step-by-step. After her thanking me a while later, I kept studying the eclipse matter and writing everything down in my meteorology notes for Brooke to check it out tomorrow. With the first rays of morning sun, I realized how late it was and went to bed.

Hope she's not getting into trouble. Ms. Grant wouldn't forgive me.

* * *

By noon and lunch I stumbled upon the fact I'd probably have more friends if I didn't somehow bring Max into _every_ conversation. I didn't see her at school today.

On a brighter note, I talked to Ms. Grant and found out about the ocean receding. There's been beached whales and dying birds, and the fisherman sales have been dropping. Something's up with the electromagnetic field. I know it's always present, but any kind of dysfunctional action would explain the recent happenings. Birds use this sensory modality. It's called...magnetoreception, I think.

* * *

 Haven't met Max. Had roasted peanuts for dinner.

Thursday, October 10

Woohoo! Party day. And I haven't been on such a down-low in months.

I spent the morning watching Top of the Lake and Criminal Minds. When that bored me, I went out for a walk around the school's perimeter and later dropped by my locker to get my chemistry book. And I got a chocolate bar from the vending machine, even though I didn't really feel that hungry.

* * *

 Zachary Riggins just hit me with a football.

* * *

Found myself sitting in my car and reading the Mothman comics I'd bought the other day. The chemistry book I retrieved from my locker is thrown in the backseat and long forgotten, same as the crumpled up Snickers paper. It's pretty chilly out. But I'd kill for a blueberry slurpie, if only I had the motivation to drive all across town to get it. I guess I'm just not pumped enough today. Wouldn't hurt if I got to just hang around with Max for a while, she really is my lucky coin. But it's Chloe getting all the fortune now, and I'm the Plan B, and everything truly does suck.

That feeling when even Chloe makes a better boyfriend than you will ever? That feeling is _alive and well._

* * *

Late classes, and chemistry is a piece of cake, anyways, so I spent the day in my dorm room printing equations and plastering my walls with them. Rolled out my Mad Max poster and pinned it above my bed, next to The X-Files. Wrote Kate a "Get Well" type of letter and dumped it in the post box.

I ended up lying in bed and thinking about kissing Max. Since it gave me the worst stomach twists, I put on some music and did my assigned reading homework to let the thoughts drift away.

I heard Prescott shout outside my room, but it's a common thing. I hear Nathan yelling at people often. Blackwell's own personal Rottweiler Nathan.

"What are you doing in my dorm?"

Casual. _It's most likely Dana,_ I thought. Dana visits Trevor often. Except she's in the Vortex Club, just like the rest of Vic's army, so Prescott shouldn't give her shit for being here.

I stopped reading and listened.

"You're _such_ a nosy bitch, Max!"

"Stop right there, Nathan."

 _"Make_ me, ho."

I tumbled off the seat and rushed out my room the second I heard Max's voice.

They were at the entrance door of the dorms, with the punk girl holding Nathan away from Max. He tried getting past Chloe, but she held him by the wrists. She wouldn't hold it for long. For Max, the only way out behind her is either the window, or the emergency exit. Which is locked.

Max kept backing off in horror, one hand over her mouth, the other shielding her torso. The sight of her trembling and vulnerable, just like Kate back on the roof, sent heat down my spine. Except this isn't Kate, this is _Max,_ and my affection for Max can't be fucking measured in anything.

I lunged out and pushed Prescott off Chloe, making him step back. Nathan rolled his shoulders and ran a hand over his hair.

The look in Nathan's eyes almost pierced me down to the ground. Hair combed back haphazardly, with just a few strands falling in his face, he glared at me like a fucking monster. I pondered if I should stop acting like Max's personal White Knight for the sake of my own _life._ Nathan's mental, and I'm sure as fuck he'd be able to kill me off if he wanted to. His daddy would back up anything he does.

Though I'm sure he's surprised I dared to step up.

"I got this, Max," I said. It took me all my willpower to sound sure I _actually_ got this, unlike the last time I'd said these exact words. On Monday it ended up with me rolling around the parking lot with a black eye and hurting intestines, up until Madsen ran over to pull Rott off.

"Get the fuck out of my face." Nathan bunched his shoulders up, to appear more intimidating. The growl did nothing to break my posture.

I swung, lightly, from one feet to the other, simultaneously stepping closer. With a quick grip on his shoulders, I gave Nathan the finest Glasgow kiss of his life.

The headbutt threw both him and me aback, namely - he collapsed, and I, somehow, stayed put, on both my trembling legs.

Despite me having read about self-defense moves and techniques, I haven't practiced the correct forms of them. I don't have anyone to practice on. Like, shit, Logan? Trevor? _Zachary?_ The targeted strike wasn't thought-through. I ended up holding the bridge of my own nose. I presumed it bled by the warmth pouring down over my lip. I hoped I didn't break it, or anything. Mom would get _so_ pissed.

My head dizzied up in a few seconds, and I stumbled back, to the approximate location of Max. Heard her gasp in horror, for the first time in my life. In the corner of my eye I saw her step away, further from the fight. Both her hands were covering her mouth now. Shit... The _lengths_ I'm ready to go for this girl are _eternal._

"You are _so_ fucking _dead!"_ Nathan yelled, right hand reaching down his pocket.

Fuck.

Fuck, he still owns a gun.

My eyes widened right before I aimed a panic-filled kick at his stretched arm, sending the, previously pointed at me, licensed silver Airsoft Colt Delta Elite flying. It hit the wall and fell back on the ground.

Max gasped, again, now more terrified than before once the familiar gun came in the picture.

Nathan's wrist made a high-pitched crack sound and he pulled it back close to his body and shielded himself.

My heart kept skipping brief rows of beats as I realized I've got _Prescott_ cornered, and there's nobody to stop me or interfere in _any_ fucking way. Unless Chloe wants to bust his ass on her own, considering the shit he's done to her so far.

I saw Nathan try to scramble up to his feet again, and kicked right at the face. The bridge of his nose dripped crimson. Instantly. I broke it. Prescott's nose, I _broke_ it. I didn't calculate my strength. But then again, I didn't _fucking_ care. _I've got Prescott cornered. He's dead fucking meat!_

Kicked him again, now in the chest. My inner Narrator flourished. Tyler would be so proud. Shit, I'm joining Fight Club once this is over.

"Get off me, bro!" Nathan screamed, and I aimed one at the stomach. One more. Then, another one.

And the third.

"You like to hurt people, huh?" I vindictively asked, matching a kick to every other word.

His face, morphed in pain, confusion, and the realization it's the _Graham_ kid who's brought him down sent unhealthy vibrations down my throat, and I felt my voice break.

"Like _Max?"_ This kick was especially sharp. "Like Kate? Like _me?"_

Kicking him, relentlessly, I realized I want him down by my _own_ hands. The thought worked as a cue, and I fell to my knees with a strike aimed straight at this face. I let both of my fists do the work, completely shutting down any kind of rational sense or thinking. My knuckles hurt _so_ fucking much, but this pain was worth all the previous month's torture with living in a single dormitory building with Nathan.

Nonetheless, I felt my eyes tearing up due to the nerves finally reacting.

"Feel this, mother _fucker,"_ I hissed, gripping his jaw to position the face straighter for a better target.

Then, I almost punched his eye out.

With repetitive hits, I killed Nathan's spirit to fight back. My fist took a mechanical course and I kept bruising the left side of his face, over and over again. His forehead and brow bone bled, he kept spitting blood, and I kept tasting my own staling on my lips from the previous nosebleed.

With no mercy, my knuckles sunk down, punch by punch. Everything previously bottled up now poured out. I craved wiping at my tears, but I feared at least one of the three others would notice. Even my forehead erupted in sweat, and I felt so, so fucking heated.

Once I'd realized I'll break my own fingers by doing this, I continued hitting his face with the side of my palm. Ruthlessly. Like a feral animal, almost as if I'd be holding a knife.

This felt like the best and worst day of my life.

"Get... _off_ me..." Nathan mewled. _"Please..."_

His voice made my gut shake. He'd barely spurted the words through blood and spit, anyways. I might've fractured his cheekbone with the hit that followed right after the plead.

Nathan wonkily cried out. His face pressed against my wrist as he completely relaxed, letting fate get to him.

Misery. Going with the flow.

Shit, and then it came to me. I realized what I'm doing. Terrified, I stared down at Nathan.

He was crying.

* * *

It's been at least five minutes and I still can't get the grand finale image out of my head.

This morning's Snicker kicked around in my guts and threatened totally jumping out. Fucking can't believe I made _Nathan Prescott_ cry underneath my sneaker like a dosed puppy. Man, he really-- he's really not okay. I guess neither am fucking I, in that case. Fuck, I went _alpha,_ I... I mean, I went _total_ UFC on his ass. I've never hit anyone like this. At least Max and Chloe came to some consciousness and pulled me off from Nathan, through the doors, outside. I fear I might've injured him more seriously if they hadn't.

He got good beating, but I didn't blow the border where he's out completely.

"Damn, that was intense," Max finally said, erasing the silence. And the silence was _pretty_ obvious. The girls have been staring at me ever since we got out the dorms.

I was nervously picking at my nails and looking at Max, at them both. Mostly Max, but Chloe's impressed stare didn't bug me at all. I also looked all around, to avoid looking down. I couldn't look down. I beat Nathan... _way_ too hard. It's his blood on my hands, and a greasy line of my own as a result of my freshly wiped nose.

And my knuckles hurt like shit. They're all bruised up. My entire right arm hurts, from the wrist up to the elbow. I'm one fifth of One-Punch Man now, I guess. Or, the leader of a wolf pack. From a Beta to a Motherfucking Alpha in just thirty hits and a beaten-to-a-pulp Nathan Prescott.

I'm probably going to jail after this shit. Knowing Sean Prescott and how he's dealt with anyone hassling his of-age son, I'm bound to be _sliced_ in pieces.

Good thing I dig gore, right?

"Warren, thank you _so_ much."

"For what?" I courageously asked. Trust me, I didn't _mean_ my tone.

"For beating the shit out of Nathan Prescott?" Chloe suddenly joined in. I unwillingly pulled my eyes off Max and couldn't remember _Chloe_ ever talking to me before. "Dude, you _rule."_

"I don't know. I kinda went crazy there. Like Nathan."

I'm fucking terrified of what I just did. And my legs are still all wonky and trembling. All my muscles are trying to relapse from the pulsing adrenaline circling around. I doubt I'm standing any longer. I really, _really_ want to sit down and breathe up, much more think about this, and maybe drive out to the bay and spend a good quarter of an hour there.

Max squeezed my arm. "You're not _anything_ like him."

Yeah, I am, Max.

"Good to know."

They stood side by side. It's crazy how...opposite they both are, and still end up hanging out every fucking day. Chloe's this super rowdy, rough Manic Pixie Dream Girl artiste who expresses her inside burdens and solidarity on the outside, while Max is soft, careful, _gorgeous,_ and just a little edgy. Max is...everything. And I can't get to her, even now.

Shit, and I just noticed Chloe's got a full-sleeve. Cool. I want bio-mechanical tattoos one day, too.

"So, where are you going?" I awkwardly asked. "I better stick with you, guys. Or should I call the cops on Nathan?"

"No police." Max's expression changed. "Not yet. Uh... Warren, maybe you better... Um."

I slowly raised my eyebrows. I better - what?

"Warren, me and Max have to do this on our own," Chloe jarred in again. "No offense."

Yeah, none taken. "It's cool. Whatever I can do to help."

They shared a glance and nodded at me. Expecting at least a hug, and getting none, I turned around and walked back inside the dorms.

* * *

The dormitory was so silent and eerie I wondered if I'm in one of those sci-fi flicks being the last boy on Earth. Going back to my room felt so useless. I wanted to wash my hands, face, and rinse my mouth. Glad I don't feel hungry. I'm sure I won't feel hungry for a good while now.

I passed the speckle of Nathan's bloody spit in the hallway and stopped there.

There was a smeared, red trail on the wall. Seemed like he'd pressed against it to keep balance. It led up all the way to his room. The "Prescotts rule this town" room slate was on the ground. His blood was even on the doorknob.

Shit. Should I help him to the nurse's office? It's not cool what I did. I didn't even know I was this able-bodied. I only wanted to protect Max, but it... I totally flipped.

I looked to the left, at the stretching corridor that suddenly sent all the grimmest The Shining vibes to the back of my head. It was surprising nobody walked in on the fight. I felt like I was blackmailing myself by pushing the burden of checking upon him, but it's how my parents raised me. Non-vindictive, and as least acrimonious as possible.

I'm going to get him to the nurse. After that, bonds are cut. I can't start giving a fuck about Prescott. Not him, out of everyone in this school.

With trembling hands, staring at the number "111", I walked up on the door and knocked.

No reply, obviously, since it's not as I'd expect him waiting for my arrival.

"Nathan?" I silently called.

I don't know if I was more terrified of him answering or not. If he did, I'd at least be sure he's alive, and might just... Just tell him to visit the nurse. If he doesn't talk, he's either dead or not there.

Then I shivered.

Something loud hit the door and I jumped backwards. My fingers were still tight on the doorknob. Knuckles totally white and shitted up.

I slowly opened the door, ready to counter any attack or thrown object from Nathan's side.

This was the first time I've seen his room and it reeks of freshly-lit cigarettes.

It's dim, greyscale and considerably tighter than mine. A large bookshelf covered a half of his window, even with the blinds already shut. A projector above his bed switched images, which at first confused me as the bright rays kept changing and showed every speck of dust in the air.

Macabre. Gore. Everything in this room holds a depressive, collected feeling.

There was a three picture exposition built in the shelf. A black leather couch on the left, partly pushed off the wall. Grim, ghastly posters and pictures, and Nathan on the ground, smoking, his back pressed against the footboard of his bed.

Seeing him alive and conscious pushed the weight off my shoulders. Nonetheless, I was still stocking adrenaline upon the sight of the blurred wound over his nose, the clotting blood all across his eyebrow, and his torn up lip. It left marks on the cigarette he was smoking. He neglected my presence and kept staring straight. Just like me, minutes ago, in the lot with Max and Chloe.

He was toying around with a camera and didn't pay attention.

The air was unclear, thick, dirty and packed with nitrogen, carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide.

I expectantly watched Nathan.

"You should've killed me, Graham," Prescott silently said. "You had the chance to crack my skull and you _blew_ it."

I closed the door behind me and slid down on the floor. Being in the same height level as him brought somewhat ease to relating to whatever he's bound to say now.

"I zoned out. That's _not_ what I meant to do. We've never been--"

"That bitch took my gun."

He'd cut my sentence off. "Chloe?"

"Yeah. She's bound to be off, anyways. She's going to die." Nathan finally looked at me. "It's the end for Blackwell's fucking freaks, you and your feminazi Max in count."

He got his head pinched between the rug and my Converse sneaker with my entire one-hundred-and-sixty pound mass pressing his brain down as I'd repeatedly smashed his connection with the world out with fat slap sounds, man, Prescott _cried_ and pleaded for mercy, and he _still_ can't keep his mouth shut. Wow. I can't believe it.

I can't believe what an idiot he is.

It ached when I bared my right fist, the edges of the healing scabs were all torn up, but I let it pass due to sudden anger.

"You cried because the geek you've been beating the shit out of was able to kick your stomach seven times in a row and you're still talking shit about his friends," I rephrased my thoughts. "You're such a fucking loudmouth, Nathan."

"When I said it's the end for Blackwell's freaks, I meant it."

"Namely?"

He rolled the cigarette between his fingers and smoked. I let my head rest against the door, same as my back. My hands were resting still in my lap. Surprisingly, they didn't tremble. Oh, fuck. It reeked in the room. I hate the smell. But Nathan always does what he wants, in every class. Like the "Prescotts rule this town" room slate says, Prescotts rule this town, Blackwell Academy included.

Nathan can smoke all he wants. Nathan can smoke whatever and where ever he wants.

"He's going to kill me, too," Prescott said. "He's going to kill Max and Chloe, and Victoria."

"Who is?"

"It's because I fucked it all up. His plan. I was the perfect, muddied up unstable schizomaniac to project that sick fetish on. I had all the money he needed. I had the same mentality. He played on it, he imitated my _father_ and made me believe I'm something else. Shit, I'm really wistful because of that."

I stared, mouth gaping. Who is he? Nathan won't answer.

My skin itched. I wished I could pull my phone out and call Max and tell her, it's him. I could tell her, you're in danger, Max, and so is Chloe, and that stuck up Chase girl, and Rachel, too.

Nathan stretched out the hand holding the camera.

I confusedly lowered my brows. "What do you want me to do with it?"

"Have it. Take a picture of me."

Unsure whether I should laugh or take him seriously, I kept staring at his hand, and then up at Nathan himself.

"What?" I shakily laughed.

"Fucking take the camera, shithead." He pressed the burning remains of the cigarette against his knee. It melted the material of his pants and left a black, greasy circle. Bet it's synthetic. "Surprising how Max has kept you as her fucking private purse Chihuahua for this long by the span you realize the orders you're given."

I took the camera from his hand. It was heavier than I'd expected. One of the edges told me it's a Nikon D4. Not a Polaroid, unlike the one Max owns. Man, I know the D4 costs six grand, just the body.

"How much was the lens?" I curiously asked, raising the camera to my face.

"One thousand."

I took a picture of Nathan.

Once I checked it on the display, I pleasantly raised my brows. Wow. Props to Nikon. Considering it's one of, if not _the_ most expensive cameras of theirs, the quality was stunning.

"I'll give it an eight."

"It's not a Hasselblad," Nathan said, having caught my reaction. "Shit, it's not even the second Leica. I assume you know cameras, since you know how to hold one. It's a six at best."

"One for each grand?"

"No. This is a portrait lens. Once you switch to the cheaper micro lens, the landscape quality is gritty in twilight. I don't use this one, ever. Used it only once. For a school project."

I was still staring at the picture I'd taken. Nathan wasn't looking at the objective at the moment I snapped it, he was looking upwards, at me, with a slight gap between his lips. The drying blood was all crackled up in the corner of his mouth.

It's amazing how detailed and in-color the objective caught all his bruises.

Just now I realized he's not wearing his red varsity, and it's bunched up right next to his bent legs, as shown in the picture.

I glanced over the camera to catch him looking at me.

I remembered the original reason I came to Nathan's room.

"Are we talking about cameras after I've beaten you to a rag?" I murmured. "I came to drag you to the nurse."

"It's the only thing I really like doing. Besides you never fucking complained, until now." Nathan let his head rest against the end of the bed. "Fuck you, Warren. Leave me to rot. It hurts so fucking much."

"Why did you want a picture of yourself?"

"Because I'm drugged, beaten, cornered and _innocent."_

The emphasis felt weird. I looked back at the camera. Dared to press the arrows to check other pictures.

There were a few shots of the campus from entrance of the dorms. Foggy Sunday mornings. Super eerie. Silent Hill-ish. This is Twin Peaks materialized. His color shots mostly played on the greyscale and simple, warm tones. He'd also gotten pictures of the bay. The lighthouse.

There was a set of around seven identical pictures, so I quickly skipped through them. Midway through, something blue flashed.

I pressed the other button and went a few shots back.

My eyes widened.

_It's Chloe._

"What the fuck are you doing?" Nathan hastily asked and sat up straight. I switched the camera off before he snatched it from my hands and threw it back on the bed. "I asked for a fucking picture, not you flipping my shit over."

I realized I'm in a single room with a total psycho.

Wait, no.

I realized there's two psychos in this room. We're absolutely equal in this sense.

"You drugged Chloe," I whispered, staring at him. "You drugged her and Kate, right?"

He watched me from his safe position, checking my expression. He knew I'd seen the picture.

"Yeah, I did. I did. I drugged them." Nathan let his hands comb through his hair and stay there. "And Nathan Joshua Prescott, the front face of Blackwell Academy, has also killed Rachel Amber."

His words lingered in the air.

Eyes still as wide, I was watching Nathan's face morph into something else. Frustration, guilt and severe lust.

He killed the girl the police has been looking for for six months.

They've been looking for someone who's been just wrecking shit in an academy right under their noses, under their surveillance, for half a year.

I didn't realize I'd pressed both my palms flat against the door as I tried to stand. Knees completely out of order, I fumbled up straight and hit my elbow against the doorknob.

Facing Nathan still, my seriously trembling hand found the handle.

I'd never felt this scared in my life.

Nathan laid against his bed as relaxed as before. He pulled a pack of cigarettes and took a new one between this teeth. From this angle, being this much higher, I noticed the orange bottles filled with pills next to his thigh.

Three orange bottles, and one was white.

"You can call the police," he said, repeatedly clicking the lighter until it gave off a flame. "I'd be glad if you did. I'll be safer locked up in jail than under the guard of two policemen in a small town. I'm bound to be shot, anyways."

"I'll call the police," I uttered.

"Call them."

"I'll call them."

The hand with the lit cigarette trembled, in the same irregular pattern as mine holding the doorknob. A few blond strands slid to the sides of his face from the earlier unnoticed shaking that gradually overtook.

"Call the police, Warren," he growled through his teeth. "Fucking call them over, call officer Berry and his whole shit-eater gang."

I realized I couldn't even leave the room.

I realized I wouldn't call the police.

I couldn't even open the fucking door.

I slid back on the ground with Nathan. The lighter kept chiming, even though the cigarette was already lit.

"If it weren't for my relentless beatdown and I still had the gun, I'd be out cold," Nathan said. His voice was audibly different, cracked, and lighter. Like earlier, before, when I hit him the last few times. A really, really desperate tone. "I'd have shot myself in the fucking head."

"You--"

"I'd have fucking _shot_ myself in the fucking head," he repeated. His voice was shaking. "Torn up everything in this room, I'd break it, I'd break my fingers and legs and I'd shoot _everyone_ present in the fucking dormitory before offing myself."

I watched him, mesmerized, unable to speak. Knowing I live in the room opposite to his, I'd fly to Heaven first.

Nathan raised the cigarette to his lips and shakily stood. He had the blue button-up on, and his pants had stretched at the knees and wrinkled at the ankles. I watched him walk over to the one half of a window and get as close as he could. His thighs were pressed against the table in order for him to do so.

"You know how it feels to be used," Nathan said. The smoke rose and contrasted against the dark walls. "Max uses you. You're her fucking pawn, like I am to everyone else. Smartypants, geek friend. She bludgeons the shit out of you, I've seen it, _man,_ it _sure_ is a hell of a friendship."

"It's wrong to bring Max into this, Nathan."

"She doesn't fucking like you, Warren."

"We're friends."

He scoffed. "She's not a friend to _you._ Everyone knows you slobber over Caulfield, idiot. Even Max herself finds it gross."

I instantly looked down at his dark rug. "At least I crush on girls instead of killing them."

"I loved Rachel. I loved her. Everybody did. Rachel was a fucking _accident._ I told you I fucked up. I fucked it all up with Rachel. His file was pristine and perfect up until I showed up and decided to shit all over it. Nobody was ever killed. Nobody."

I wasn't following. "What?"

"They took the phone." He turned around and sat on the table. His legs lightly swung. "They have everything. The pictures, the phone, the gun. Both dykes are going to pull the ends together, sooner or later. They'll find out I killed Rachel. I'll be dead by then, most likely, buried in American Rust next to her rotting model's body. He's used me in all ways he could."

 _"Who_ is using you?" I directly asked, wanting an answer.

"Shit, you don't know." Nathan slid off the table and walked back over. He now sat closer to me, leaning against the side rail of the bed. We almost faced each other. "What the fuck ever. I'm dead before the party. Nothing's going to change if I let you know. At least someone's going to be sane and informed enough to write a pretty fucked criminal for garbage chicks like Max to read."

Nathan watched me for a good while. I think he wondered if I can be trusted with anything he's about to say. I probably can't. I'll freak out and drag race over to the miniature police station around ten blocks away.

"Mark Jefferson," he simply said.

I grinned, eyebrows furrowed. He's kidding.

"Stop fucking around," I said. "I need to know what to file for the police."

"You _wish_ I was kidding. Nobody's going to believe you, just like nobody's going to believe me. He's too _normal_ to be considered a severely fucking disturbing sicko. He's the...attractive, middle-aged teacher with quirky humor and great fucking talent to Max, Victoria, Kate...and the rest of the sheep."

"Why does he want to kill Max?"

"Bitch knows too much."

I winced at the insult like it was aimed at me. Nathan noticed the reaction.

"Jesus, do you ever _not_ think about that gay slut? She eats Chloe for fucking breakfast, lunch and dinner, get used to it. She doesn't want you. She doesn't _think_ about you. You do not _exist_ as a concept to Maxine Caulfield."

"Tell me about Jefferson."

"Knew this would shut you up." He offered me the cigarette. I declined. "Your loss. Mmm... Know about...photography fetishists? Have you ever heard of shit like cinemaphiles and photophiles?"

"I'm a cinemaphile, kind of. And I know a few photophiles in our school." I avoided mentioning Max so he wouldn't burst again.

"Do you even know what a fetish is, Saint Graham, or is Max your endgame sexuality?"

"I _know_ what fetish means." I pointed up at the poster with a tied up figure. Bondage. "That's yours."

Nathan pushed all his attention down to his hands, slightly embarrassed. "Whatever. Jefferson had an ideology I thought was brilliant at first. You wouldn't know, but I'm sure _Max_ has noticed, I generally work with monochromes. With shadows. It wasn't Mark's influence. I've been doing this before he did a move and took me in as a wrenchboy."

"And?"

"He drugs girls he titles as "gifted" and takes them to a confined place. There, a photo shoot happens. Citing himself, he tends to say he sees the beauty in innocence, meaning his clicker works with five frames per second right when the girl wakes up."

"He takes pictures of drugged girls?" I asked, squinting in disbelief. "Is he... Wow. That's...fucked."

"There's no sexual intercourse."

"You sure?"

"I've fucking seen it myself, I'll know better," Nathan barked. "Jefferson captures the seconds they're drowsy, intoxicated, all fucked up and just slightly conscious. It's the only state he wants them in. He finds some remarkable beauty in it. Thinks it's attractive. I thought so, too, at first."

I started nibbling the blood staling on my fingers. "What changed?"

"The stress put pressure on me. I'm gone as it is. Total dead meat with pills for dinner. I couldn't concentrate in classes, started...having these sick nightmares. It happened after Rachel died. After I overdosed her," Nathan corrected himself. "I got the gun because he advised me to, but the original intent was to protect myself from Mark."

"You worked with him."

"Yeah, but you don't know what he did to me after I killed Rachel." Nathan looked at me. "I was on a garbage pile next to her dead fucking body, Warren. He screamed at me. He made me bury her. He said he's going to kill me if I fuck this shit up even further. I was so fucking scared of being this tightly controlled again. It all eased down when nobody found her for months. We took a break during that while, and there were no new girls getting drugged."

"Where did you--"

"Frank Bower."

Then he suddenly stood up and walked over to the blue trashcan by the couch.

I watched him lift a bottle of champagne.

"Until the next semester. Kate." Nathan popped the cork. "He said Kate has potential and told me she's got that "gift", same as the rest of the pack. I don't know how he figured the innocence in others, but Kate was a shot. That frail fucking Christian chick with skirt just long enough to cover her ass counted as perfect material. So at the party, I did it. I spiked her drink and she totally spiraled."

"Who took the video?"

"Vicki. Victoria."

"Is she on the list?" I asked.

Nathan's lips immediately pressed close together, and I knew the answer.

"Mark didn't _want_ Victoria, Warren," he silently said. "Not because she's the closest person to me here, in Blackwell. She's not "gifted". Fuck her photography skills. She's the least innocent girl he's had in mind, ever, asides from Rachel Amber, so she doesn't aesthetically _work_ for Jefferson's entire theme. But since Max fluked and didn't submit the photo for the contest, Victoria is Mark's last option."

My stomach dropped.

"Max?"

"Shut up. Don't spew her name. After he'd gotten the few shots of Kate, he was just _so sure_ of what he wanted. That...big, hot mix of Rachel and Kate. The lesbian dream girl all twirled up with a religious freak."

I took the bottle he'd offered me, knowing I wouldn't get through this without alcohol. This week has been a freaking shitfest so far, and I've still got to face the consequences of the party. Jefferson's also going to be there. He's got to announce the winner of the contest Max never submitted her photo to.

I'm either going to crawl on stage and choke him to death, or take the gun from Chloe and sniper him out from behind the punch bowl. That'd be pretty decent.

I couldn't wrap my head around the fact Nathan's killed Rachel Amber and deliberately drugged people, and is _still_ tightly bound with a camouflaged serial kidnapper giving him directions to do so.

More so, I couldn't exactly figure why Nathan seemed so light and relatable, and why we've never been friends before an incident like this.

It all felt so right. Not that I'd approve on any of the shit the duet has done, but Nathan felt right as a person for me to be around.

"It feels great spilling this to you," Nathan suddenly said.

"Yeah, it probably does."

"I can't believe I'm going to be dead in a few hours. I don't-- I don't even have my gun now." He raised his hands in despair and let them fall back on his thighs. "I can't protect myself. I can't kill myself. I can't do anything besides sit here, beaten up, high, drunk and crying like the utmost bitch. I don't even fear dying. I fear I know exactly when and how I'm going to die."

"Last wishes?" I toyed with the bottle.

"To fuck Victoria Chase."

"Really?"

"No." Nathan grimaced. "I don't have a last wish. I just... I might want to apologize to Kate. Chloe, if she wasn't an unforgiving bitch up to this day. I'd have liked to say more to Rachel. She was something. But she's dead now, so I can't."

We sat in silence. The only sound was the occasional clinks of the champagne when we shared the bottle and drank.

"Don't you have anything to get off your chest, geek?" Prescott asked. "I just told you my entire criminal history, and all you seem to worry about in life is Cowfield."

I laid back and thought about it.

Yeah, Nathan's right.

I wondered about bringing Max in the conversation, since I needed to physically take it off of my chest, but Nathan wasn't the right person to do this with, and literally no one was.

"I'd have more friends, here, in Blackwell, if it weren't for Max."

"Oh, you're right about that."

"A lot of people just don't _dig_ her. They think she's weird and...weird. And science freaks like me aren't even treated half as bad as it's shown in the movies. I adore her and the shit she does, but I tend to overlook things and assume I might have the slightest chance, when I really fucking don't. Being led on and used by a girl that's not even interested in boys, let alone you, is a really very shitty thing."

"Shit, you're fucked. What a ruse," Nathan whispered. "The biggest problem is you having great potential. And yet you only see Max. It's depressing. Both for you, and everyone around."

"Yeah, like who? Brooke." I frowned. "That's it."

Nathan raised the bottle to his bruised lips. "Brooke, Stella, _Taylor._ Victoria talks about you. Girls _burn_ for the geek shit."

"Whatever."

"See? Max, Max, Max. You're not even trying to strip yourself from her. You just...run in fucking circles, nerd."

I brushed my fingers through my hair, feeling the depressing down-low settle in. "I don't have an option. I won't settle for anyone else up until we graduate. I can't just _forget_ liking her, Nathan."

He shuffled over to my left side.

I could check out his bruises from a close-up. The hollow of his cheekbone didn't exist due to the swelling. I'd managed to split almost every edge his bone structure had made on his face. Nathan had the most boyish, spoiled kid face I could imagine a spoiled kid having.

His lips were still covered in dark crimson stains, though I'd see him wipe at them previously. And the neck of the bottle held a taste of rust. Then I figured it was Nathan's.

"Do you _actually_ want to make your thoughts shift away from Max?" Nathan asked, silent, but upbeat. "Because everything I do now is my own memento mori, Warren. I could do whatever. I'm pretty sure I don't give a shitty fuck about anything from now on. Might record myself crying during the last minutes of my absolutely scornful life and hide the SD card somewhere only you could find."

"I don't see the point. Unless you want me to find out everything, file it together, and hand it in to the police so they lock Jefferson up."

"That _is_ the point, idiot. I was told you were smarter."

Nathan was given the chance to finish the bottle off. I felt weird on the inside. The alcohol didn't hit as much as our while of sudden bonding right before Nathan gets mowed off this Earth.

It confused me why he couldn't just fucking leave the town. He had a car. Money. Places to go, opportunities. His only minus is the unstability and the fact he's overdosed on a girl and participated in several illegal kidnapping and drugging acts. And the gun, and everything.

"I asked you a question," Nathan reminded. "About Max. Do you really want to strike her out your list?"

"I don't know. I want to be able to look at her and not get my insides in a total twist," I confessed. "That's all."

"Did I mention the memento mori?"

"Yeah."

Prescott stared at me for a while, with an indescribable mixture of devotion and hope in the curves of his eyebrows. We were close enough for me to feel his presence radiate through his thin, blue cotton shirt. The bluescale beaten face didn't do it for me, though. He's not as attractive as boys after fights in the several movies I've seen, I'll admit this beforehand. But connecting the physical, the visual image with the unstable, manipulated softie, the bigotry of Blackwell Academy just shrunk down to a lame, quite problematic ginger boy with issues.

I couldn't believe I could just skim over the fact he's killed Rachel Amber. Are we both the same?

Am I really just a casual cold-blood?

This thought triggered, I pressed my lips together and squeezed my eyes shut. This is probably the worst day of the week, so far, and it's just Thursday. Due to the shit that's been happening, I'm bound to get wasted at Vortex Club's party and sink the dread from today in shot glasses. I'm shit at alcohol and bet I'll end up staggering around with a red cup.

Max isn't interested.

Max is into girls.

Sitting with eyes closed next to someone as ungodly dangerous as Nathan felt really satisfying. Wow, I'm just born to be a dark, twisted criminal, I guess. It's spelled out in the stars, I bet.

"I fucking hate everything about this week," I whispered, and something warm pressed against my lips the following second. Wet, full and super salty. This felt approximately like I'd always imagined Max's lips to feel like.

For a second, I kissed back. Felt my stomach jar up. If this was Max, I'd slide my hands up her hair, down her neck, maybe. But it's not Max, and Max would never kiss me like this. Nobody would ever kiss me as acutely and desperately as this.

I opened my eyes and immediately pulled off.

"Jesus...! Fuck, _Nathan."_ I held my wrist up over my mouth, furiously reddening with each passing second.

Nathan looked asides as he wiped his lower lip. Then, he turned back to me.

"Thanks," he simply said.

"What?"

"Fucking thank you." His familiar moodiness kicked back in. "Thanks for being my last call. Now, get fucking lost, Graham. Get out of the dormitory, if you can."

Wiping my own mouth, I tried standing and confusedly looked at him. Is he going to blow the place up, or something?

"Why?" I asked. "What's up?"

"I overdosed on the pills. In about twenty minutes, I'm going to freak. Like the schizomaniac Mark titled me as." Nathan casually shrugged. "I'll bang on the walls, tear the wallpaper and hit myself. It all makes a lot of noise. And everybody's out for the upcoming party. Warren, it's _safe_ for me to die. The death's pretty inevitable. He'll come for me before the party."

Nathan Prescott could easily drive away from the town. He could just flee the place and go back to Florida, to his origin. He could take up therapy. Rehabilitate. But he's not going to do it since he deems himself as guilty, not manipulated, as a fucking mistake constantly controlled by people who have a bigger saying over the eighteen-year-old than himself.

"Stop hanging around losers like Max," Nathan said. "Kiss Victoria, if you can. Bust Jefferson. Avenge me, nerd."

"I'll bust you out of this."

"No. Don't bust me out of anything. You're not going to see me ever again."

* * *

I didn't leave my room. Locked up, back against the door and knees tight against my chest, I bit down my fingers and listened.

I heard everything.

It silenced by seven.

* * *

I'd originally thought tonight's going to be the big night for me and Max, since it's the party she said she'd come to if I were there _._ We had, I don't know, kind of a date set. She'd promised we could hang out in the Loser Corner together, get totally hammered and talk about her shitty attempts at being a pacifist.

I thought she might kiss me and other delusional crap. Max said she'd come.

Yeah, she arrived. With _Chloe._

I got over-the-board hammered even before they arrived. It's not because I'd came to a sudden realization Max didn't actually like me the way I'd have expected her to, or that she's got something going on with Chloe. Man, it's...not even the shit up with Rachel, Kate and the rest of the endangered species.

Fuck having spoken to Nathan.

Fuck growing to know everything about the situation. I'm going to keep quiet about it until tomorrow, until October 11th. Until I sleep my hangover out and be able to write everything Nathan said down in a Word document. Then I'd rake the Internet about Jefferson, Rachel Amber and other cases of girls disappearing.

Then, I'd raid Nathan's room. But this is all a plan for the future. I'm leaving it for tomorrow. Today, it's something different. Today, my heart is broken, my face is busted, Nathan Prescott is highly likely to lie next to Rachel, and life couldn't get any worse.

There were two moons that night.

I took a picture with Max, since it might be the last one.

I saw Mark Jefferson congratulate Victoria about winning the "Everyday Heroes" contest.

And I realized Nathan was probably right about everything.


End file.
